


Discomfort in the Dungeons

by Daffadowndilly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Amortentia, Drarry, M/M, Potions, Potions Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 10:34:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10897554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daffadowndilly/pseuds/Daffadowndilly





	Discomfort in the Dungeons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluesea89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesea89/gifts).



 

Harry Potter was late to potions. It wasn’t a big deal, really. The eighth year classes were entirely comprised of course review and test prep, trying to fill in the gaps left in an education interrupted by war. Slughorn had no problem with Harry showing up late, he seemed to enjoy the opportunity to show favoritism.

So Harry walked into class without the slightest fear that he’d be reprimanded; he didn’t even pretend to rush,  there really wasn’t a point any more. As he entered a strange scent overwhelmed his senses. Surprisingly, the smell only grew stronger as he approached where Ron and Hermione were seated, waving casually to Slughorn as he did so. Slughorn winked at him and returned to his notes.

 

Harry wrinkled his nose as he walked to his desk and greeted his friends with a sour expression.

 

“What in Merlin’s name is that horrible smell?”

 

“What?”

 

“Whatever it is that you’ve been brewing, you should chuck it immediately.” Harry said, dropped his bag next to his chair, “Start over.”

 

“Why, mate?” Ron asked in a hush, “What do you smell?”

 

“What do you mean? Can’t you smell it? You’re sitting right in front of it!” Harry protested.

 

“Harry don’t-”

 

“I mean, it smells like you’ve poured wood polish, mashed up tart, and that horrible cologne Malfoy’s taken to bathing in, straight into your cauldron and stirred it all together. I mean, it really is disgusting. Absolutely repellant” Harry plopped down in his seat, “I’d know, by the way, because I got a nose full of him yesterday. Malfoy, I mean. Had to sit next to the git all through Defense because, if you’ve forgotten, while you two got to be paired up, I was stuck practicing with that fer… ” his words died on his lips as he peered into the cauldron; the contents had a familiar mother-of-pearl sheen. Harry blinked and looked up to see Hermione and Ron’s faces, frozen in horror. From the cauldron on the desk, steam rose in a pretty, spiralling pattern: a dead-giveaway for… 

 

When had the room gone silent?

 

Harry felt the color rise to his cheeks. Even Slughorn was looking at him in undisguised intensity.

 

“Now, isn’t that interesting?” Drawled an all-too familiar voice. Harry didn’t have to look up to see who the owner of that voice was, so he didn’t. Panic-stricken, he looked between Ron and Hermione, hoping for some kind of help. They just stared back in alarm. Harry’s eyes bored into his desk as he tried to fight the blush he could feel staining his face.

 

A few horrible seconds passed in utter silence, and then the room filled with sound. The initial uproar was so abrupt that Harry jumped, eyes never leaving the scuffed wooden surface of his desk. He stayed like that for the remainder of the class. 

 

The idea of being accosted by  _ any _ of his fellow students filled him was a panic that seemed to balloon up from his stomach. So, five minutes before class ended, Harry rose, grabbed his things, and glanced at Slughorn, careful not to meet any other eyes as he did so. 

 

“Er, Professor, I’ve got… a… thing. To do. Gotta run. Great lesson, though.”

 

Slughorn waved him off, for which Harry was thankful, but was grinning rather broadly, for which Harry was not. 

 

Harry’s gratitude was short-lived, however, as he heard a moment later, rapid footfalls gaining on him. Harry sped up but, predictably, so did the footsteps behind him. Harry, now nearly sprinting, turned a sharp corner and-- ran headfirst into Filch, who’s back was turned. They both fell to the floor, Filch dropping a box that immediately burst open, spilling its contents across the corridor. It appeared to be an assortment of joke shop products, mostly Weasley pattened, and some of them fairly volatile-looking. Harry was torn between trying help and running away before the caretaker realized who’d run into him.

 

He scrambled up, just deciding on trying to help, when a third body slammed into them, pushing Harry and Filch both back onto the floor. 

 

“What the-”

 

“THAT’S IT!” Cried Filch, struggling to stand.

 

Harry, now with no interest in sticking around, rolled off to the side, grabbed the arm of whoever had collided with him, and jerked them back around the corner the way they’d come. 

 

The sound of Filch’s curses headed in their direction spurred them on. They ran through the castle until they reached a small hidden passageway that had been a favorite of Harry’s in sixth year when he’d had to avoid legions of girls intent on feeding him poisoned chocolate.

 

Once safely inside the passage, Harry glanced at his companion. If he was being honest, he’d known who it was, but he hadn’t looked at him until that moment. 

 

Malfoy wasn’t looking back at him, instead he had his ear up against the entrance, listening. They stood in silence for a minute or two. Eventually, Filch’s uneven tread and wheezing breath announced his arrival. Harry and Draco held their breath as he approached, met, and passed their hiding place.

 

Harry let out a sigh and leaned back from the entrance, satisfied that they were safe for now.

 

“We’d better get out of here, in case he comes back,” Harry said, “I’m pretty sure he knows about this place, not that he’s ever bothered to clean it, but when he doesn’t find us he might double back and check here.”

 

“You do this rubbish all the time, don’t you?”

 

“ … No,” Harry lied.

 

Malfoy snorted. It felt weird, conspiring with Malfoy, smirking at each other in the dark. Harry was unaccustomed to feeling comradery with any Slytherin, much less Draco.

 

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry cautiously opened the door to the passage and they slipped out. Quietly, they sped away from the scene. As soon as they’d gotten far enough to feel safe, Harry gave his partner in crime a parting nod. As he started towards the Gryffindor common room, Harry was stopped by the sound of Malfoy’s voice.

 

“I don’t wear cologne, by the way. Never.” Harry didn’t answer. Malfoy’s smirk grew more pronounced. “I smell brooms too, you know,” he continued, “and you. But not tart.  _ I mean _ , it’s ok, I guess. But it’s hardly good enough to smell in  _ Amortentia _ .”

 

“What do you smell then? I didn’t think self-satisfaction had a scent.”

 

“Unlike you, I don’t make it a habit to go around announcing what I smell in love potion.”

 

“Yeah, well. Lucky one of us does,” Harry muttered, grabbing Draco by the robes and dragging him closer.

 

“Yes, lucky,” Malfoy said, his expression defying his sarcastic tone.

 

A few awkward seconds ticked by as they looked at each other, each seeming to dare the other to make a move. In the end, Harry wasn’t sure who moved to close the distance first.

 

He did know, however, who broke away first. It was him, tearing back and stumbling out of Draco’s grasp, startled by the sound of a throat clearing. 

 

Dean Thomas had a look on his face that said Christmas must have arrived early. He was grinning, eyes flickering between them. Harry shot him an irritated look while Draco coolly smoothed out his robes.

 

Before he could speak, Harry said quickly, “Oh, shut it, Dean.”

 

Dean raised his hands in a peacemaking gesture and walked off. 

 

He took maybe four steps before hollering, “SEAMUS! GUESS WOT?!”

 

“I could hex him?” Draco suggested, looking after Dean.

 

“‘Could,” Said Harry in irritation, “not that it’ll make a difference.”

 

“Well then,” Draco said, and pulled Harry back in.

 

Their second kiss was softer, and slow enough that Harry had time to feel everything: Draco’s hands in his hair, the rough cold of the castle’s stone wall under Harry’s left hand, and the smooth warmth of Draco’s hip under his other, the gentle pressure of their mouths working against one another. The scent that had filled the potion’s classroom was all around Harry now, not quite as strong but somehow warmer. Harry wanted to lean into that scent, to drown in it.  _ Might, too,  _ Harry thought, _ if we don’t stop for air soon _ . 

 

Draco, who must have been in a similar way, gasped against Harry’s mouth. The sound and sensation made Harry’s knees weak.

 

“ _ WELL _ , what do we have here?”

 

Harry and Draco jumped apart again, this time Harry feeling much less embarrassed and much more murderous.

 

“The next person who interrupts us is going to have a pig’s tail to explain to Pomfrey,” Harry threatened loudly.

 

“This corridor’s public, Harry.” Ron protested, grinning, “And we have class. Say goodbye to the boyfriend and grab your bag. Or you can explain to Hermione why you skived off on top of missing most of potions today.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed his bag. As he pulled away he felt Draco catch his arm. Harry looked up to see Draco raising his eyebrows at him.

 

“He did tell you to say ‘goodbye,’” and he smirked again as he leaned in to press a light kiss to Harry’s lips.

  
  
End


End file.
